The Girl Who Came Back - Chapter One

And so, it is Summer. And we are free: me, my Master and Michael.

Having driven for an hour or so, we are coming close to our destination. Driving along the coast road, the sea close by, sparkling blue, and the sky an azure dome above, it could not be more perfect.

“According to the sat-nav, we should be nearly there.” says my Master, brow furrowed in puzzlement, “but I can’t see anything. Either of you spot anything I’m missing?”

Certainly, there is nothing that looks like a beach house in sight. There are dunes, pinned in place with tough grasses and with little pink belled creeping plants sprawling across the sand, a couple of small boats moored by a tiny quay, fishermen’s boats perhaps, and a small hotel a mile or so away. It is a gorgeous spot, but there is nothing that resembles the timber built, wooden shuttered beach house of my imagination.

Loaned to my Master for the Summer by the CEO of the company he is contracted to. The three of us: my Master, Michael, my Lover, and I, have travelled here to spend time together and generally, have fun…. but where is it?

“Perhaps we should ask at that hotel?” suggests Michael. “With so few houses around, they’re bound to know where it is, surely?”

“Mmmm, yes.” My Master nods and turns the car around, again, this being the third circuit we have made of this stretch of road.

Pulling up outside, he jumps out of the car, knocking at the entrance. The hotel, while small, looks expensive, with marbled steps leading up to an intricately carved door in some beautiful, dark hardwood. Tiled pathways lead around the sides, to terraces perhaps? And beyond…. is a view of naught but blue and white from one horizon to the other.

There is no reply.

He knocks again. Still no reply.

He stands back, looking around, puzzled, then after a moment he glances across to us, smiles, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a key.

Slipping it into the lock, it turns…. and the door opens. Grinning, he turns back to us, waving his arms to invite us in.

Michael and I gape.

“This is the ‘beach house’ you’ve been loaned?” laughs Michael.

“That guy you’re working for must really like you, Master.”

He says nothing, shaking his head and looking smug.

Inside, we stand in a spacious hall, high ceilings and chandeliers above us, rooms off to either side. The floor is elegantly tiled, leading right through the house, to a vast picture window overlooking the sea.

“Oh…. My….God….” I say.

Michael stands, arms folded, just looking around. “I see why you were so keen to get that contract,” he says. “If this is one of the side benefits….. No wonder you wanted to celebrate that day…”

I smile inwardly at the sort of ‘celebration’ my Master is likely to have chosen. My voice all innocence, I ask “What did you do to celebrate, Master?”

He hesitates, looking away. “I bought myself a very expensive present.”

Now, what would that have been? I ponder what I know of my Master. I know what he drives. He didn’t buy himself a flashy car. He doesn’t wear designer watches or jewellery, and his clothes, while smart and stylish, are not over the top.

My Master has vanished off into the house. Is he avoiding me? Certainly, he avoided the question.

“What did he buy himself?” I whisper to Michael.

He eyes me sideways. “You figure it out…” he grins. And he disappears off after my Master.

?

?

Ohhhh….

Me?

OMG! He bought himself a Virgin.

Giggling hysterically to myself, I follow the two through the beautiful house, almost walking into them as I find myself outside again, standing on a terrace.

The view is amazing. Nothing but beach and dunes and sea, as far as the eye can see. White sands curve in a gentle crescent, before disappearing out of sight at either end of the bay. Palm trees sway over the house, and the sea is jade, fading on the horizon to a shade of azure matched only by the sky.

Wow!

And we have this for the Summer?

My Master is simply standing there, shaking his head. “Richard did say it’s a private beach, but….” He waves an arm randomly out at the astonishing view. “I never expected….”

Michael is more pragmatic. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you’re getting this thrown in, he’s going to work your arse off for it.”

“I would think so, yes…”

My eye swings around to the side of the house. “Michael, Master, have you seen that?”

Their eyes follow mine, and they both laugh.

“A pool as well as the sea?” chuckles Michael. “This is unreal.”

We all troop around to the poolside, looking down into the water. My sense of mischief takes over, and I push at Michael. Caught by surprise, he staggers, then falls, but as he goes, grabs me by the wrist, pulling me in after him. Shrieking with laughter, I tumble in, still fully clothed, then tread water, as I splutter and splash, trying to unwrap my face from my long red hair.

My Master stands staring down at us, both splashing around, his expression amused. “If you don’t mind, children, I’m going to change into something more appropriate before I join you.”

Michael and I clamber out of the pool, still laughing. Our dripping clothes leave a trail of water as we go back to the house, so we both strip off outside the door.

“Just as well it’s private here,” he comments, as we shake ourselves off, naked in the sunshine.

“I’ll go track down some towels. Do you want to get the cases?”

“No need,” shouts my Master, from the end of the hall. “I’ve just brought them all in.”

We all don holiday-wear. Michael and I go out onto the terrace to absorb some sunshine, laden with bags of beach towels, blow-up rings and frisbees.

Michael glances down at me. “No bikini?”

I am wearing shorts and a light beach wrap and smearing sunblock over my arms. “I have to be careful in the sun. I don’t go uncovered too much.”

“Here, let me do your back. The sun will get through that wrap,” he says.

Squeezing sun cream into his palm, he looks at the label. “Factor 50? You’re not aiming for a tan then?” he grins.

“I don’t tan. I’m a redhead.”

Michael massages the cream over my back and shoulders, easing it down under the top of my shorts. I wince.

Michael looks down at me. “Those stripes on your backside hurting?”

“Mmm. Yes.”

The ‘stripes’ were awarded to me the previous evening during an adventurous few hours in a club. My Master loaned me out, and a riding crop left several weals on my bottom. It hurts.

Michael says nothing, simply working in the cream.

“What is it, Michael?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

“It just unsettles me sometimes, seeing what turns you on. I couldn’t bear to do those things to you.”

“I can understand that, but you and I enjoy ourselves in other ways.”

“Forgive me if my sympathy is a bit limited,” he comments, tartly, “but when you ask a man who has a taste for making your ass glow in the dark, for ‘intense’, you shouldn’t be too surprised if it hurts to sit down afterwards.”

Piqued, “Did I ask for sympathy?” Michael is clearly right, and it doesn’t help either my pride or my sore rear end.

He shrugs. “Fair point. No, you didn’t. Here, turn over, let me have a look. I’ll rub in an analgesic for you.”

I feel a bit sulky. “I didn’t bring anything like that with me.”

“No, but I did.” He produces a tube from his bag, “Someone has to think of these things….” I pull down my shorts and roll over. Michael looks, then whistles. “For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, I know you get a kick out of that stuff, but this is ridiculous.”